


The Rivette

by Anonymous



Category: Les Misérables (TV 2018)
Genre: 19th Century Argot, Bargaining, Captivity, Forced to Fellate Gun, Gun Kink, Interrogation, M/M, On The Barricade, Painful Penetration, The Etymology of Rivette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25135837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Suck it,” Despiat said. “Let’s see how well you know how to use that mouth, since you don’t seem to want to use it to talk. There’s got to be a use for it, right? It’s a pretty mouth.”He looked away from Rivette at those words. Rivette felt sickened at the thought of him looking at Javert, bound and helpless—and worse, Javert looking athim, on his knees before an insurgent.
Relationships: Despiat/Rivette (Les Misérables)
Kudos: 18
Collections: Nonconathon 2020, anonymous





	The Rivette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kainosite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kainosite/gifts).



Rivette flinched at the sound when the insurgent called Despiat cocked his gun. A moment later, his hand was back in Rivette’s hair, pulling his head back so roughly that Rivette’s mouth parted for an instinctive gasp before the cold metal of the muzzle nudged his lips.

“Open up,” Despiat said.

The man didn’t sound angry or as if he was enjoying this—mostly, he sounded tired, like most of the men who’d defended their little barricade here for more than a day now, and frustrated.

And of course, Rivette knew the reason for that frustration. It had the shape of a man who was currently bound to a wooden pole not far from Rivette, watching with furious eyes and a deep, bitter disappointment. Rivette could imagine Javert’s glower only too well, which was why he didn’t dare to raise his eyes.

Rivette had hastened to the barricade as soon as he’d heard that Javert had been taken prisoner, and now look at the mess he’d got them into.

Javert hadn’t talked. Javert had been strong.

But Rivette wasn’t like Javert, and they both knew it.

Reluctantly, Rivette parted his lips, gasping when Despiat slipped the barrel of the gun into his mouth.

“Suck it,” Despiat said. “Let’s see how well you know how to use that mouth, since you don’t seem to want to use it to talk. There’s got to be a use for it, right? It’s a pretty mouth.”

He looked away from Rivette at those words. Rivette felt sickened at the thought of him looking at Javert, bound and helpless—and worse, Javert looking at _him_ , on his knees before an insurgent.

So he sucked, clumsily, his heart beating in a terrified rhythm, his lips aching around the unyielding metal. He was drooling a little—he couldn’t help it, really, but the sensation of his saliva dripping down his chin just added to the shame churning in his stomach.

“Not bad,” Despiat said after a moment. “You do seem to know how to use it.”

It was true—there’d been the occasional visit to the sort of park or dance hall where one might find agreeable company for a night. Not for quite some time now, of course—not since he’d first imagined Javert hearing rumors about his conduct from some criminal trying to blackmail him. And in any case, those nights had paled since Javert had begun to feature in the dreams Rivette only allowed himself to linger on once he was all alone in his room at night.

“What do you say?” Despiat asked pleasantly. “Shall we let him use it?”

“He knows nothing,” Javert said. “And you lot are as good as dead. You know it, too. Why not let him go and surrender?”

Despiat laughed, pushing the gun deeper into his mouth until Rivette was gagging. Then, mercifully, it pulled out of his mouth and he coughed, bending over as far as he could when Despiat released his hair.

His hands were tied behind his back. The rope was strong, the knot well-tied; he’d tested that when they’d first bound him. It had been foolish to think he could rescue Javert all on his own. But he knew that no one else would dare to attempt it, and the soldiers outside weren’t much help to Javert either.

“I think you’re lying,” Despiat said. “But if we’re going to die, you’re dying with us. You and your friend here. Of course, it doesn’t have to be that way.”

There was no answer. Rivette didn’t dare to look at Javert. He knew he’d messed up. This time, he’d _really_ messed up.

This wasn’t just failing to arrest a thief. He’d handed the insurgents a second hostage. How could he have been so foolish? He deserved everything that was happening to him here.

“Now that you have me,” Rivette said, licking his aching lips, “why don’t you let him go? He has no idea what’s going on out there. He’s been with you for too long. And if you like my mouth that much—well, I could show you just what it knows how to do.”

He could barely believe what he was saying—and in front of the chief, too. But then, did it really matter now? He’d be fired as soon as they got out of here— _if_ they got out of here. And it would serve him right, too.

“It seems at least one of you wants to negotiate,” Despiat murmured. “Interesting.”

“Rivette, no,” Javert ground out furiously—but then, Rivette had known that Javert wouldn’t like this plan.

 _“Rivette?”_ Despiat’s hand gripped his chin and forced his head up, his eyes startled and amused. “Really? That’s what he calls you?”

Rivette hadn’t thought it possible, but his stomach twisted in on itself with the old, familiar embarrassment.

“It’s my name,” he said.

Despiat laughed. It was a sharp, sudden sound that made him flinch.

“A police spy and a _rivette_. This is getting more interesting by the minute.”

Rivette turned his head away, biting his lips to keep from responding to the taunt.

“He’s a fool, that’s what he is,” Javert said with barely concealed fury. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe we should put it to the test,” Despiat said. “If your friend over there doesn’t like it, he knows how to stop it. As for you... let’s find out how much of a _rivette_ you are.”

Unceremoniously, Rivette found himself pulled up to his feet and then forced to bend over a desk. He could hear the sounds of fighting outside: the dull thunder of gunfire, the shouts of their leader—who just so happened to be a young man, Rivette had noted, and not the familiar face that had scowled at him from the walls of the prefecture for so many years.

Rivette couldn’t see Javert from his new position unless he strained his neck. Instead, he closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against the rough surface of the table, testing the strength of the rope binding his wrists once more before he surrendered to the inevitable.

Bad things happened to all of them, wasn’t that true? He’d been wounded by bullets twice. He had several scars left by knives. And he couldn’t even count the many times he’d come home to his bedroom with painful bruises.

This wasn’t any different. He’d get through this too.

Something could and slick rubbed between his buttocks—more rigid than any man he’d ever been with.

The gun.

Rivette’s breath caught in his throat and he tensed, awaiting the moment Despiat would force it inside. Instead the insurgent just rubbed it leisurely against him—waiting, perhaps, for Javert’s reaction.

He was waiting in vain. Rivette bit back a laugh at the thought that Javert should crack—Javert, who hadn’t yielded a single fraction for as long as Rivette had known him. Javert had surely been perfectly content to let those insurgents murder him—and he’d be expecting the same composure from Rivette.

No tears. No begging. No giving away any secrets.

Not that Rivette knew anything of worth—except perhaps for the password that would let an agent in disguise pass through the lines of soldiers surrounding the barricade. It could be of use—it wouldn’t save these men, but one or two might make it out alive...

Rivette flinched at the mere thought of the fury and disgust he’d see on Javert’s face. No, he couldn’t give in either, not when the chief hadn’t broken. Javert could have offered the password himself, yet he hadn’t.

Despiat seemed to take his flinch as a reaction to the cold, slick metal brushing against his hole. “You should be grateful,” he said. “A bit of spit will make it easier. But then you don’t want easy, do you?”

A moment later, the gun was pulled away. Instead Rivette heard the rustle of clothes.

If there had been spit, it couldn’t have been much, because when Despiat’s cock pressed against his hole next, it hurt to be forced open. Rivette, on occasion, had enjoyed a quick, rough encounter—but even then there’d been spit, and he’d been eager enough for it that he’d enjoyed the initial stretch.

This time it was different. He wanted none of it, and instead of willingly swallowing the hard cock pressing against him, his body clenched and fought against the intruder. It was hopeless, of course—he was bound and bent over and couldn’t escape. All his struggling achieved was to make it hurt more, his hole forced to stretch wide around a hard, dry cock that felt larger than anything else he’d had up there.

“He’s really tight,” Despiat said conversationally. “Your _rivette_.”

Javert didn’t answer.

Rivette concentrated on panting through the pain as Despiat pulled back a little and then pushed deeper, forcing him open until his body was throbbing around Despiat’s cock, stretched and taut and aching like never before. He squeezed his eyes shut, ashamed at the burn of tears. Suddenly he found himself grateful that Despiat had bent him over the desk. At least Javert couldn’t see his face.

“It would have been so easy to avoid all of this.”

Despiat sounded breathless now, his hips still coming forward hard. It was a little easier to take him—Rivette’s body had grown used to the violation, and there was that growing awareness of the pressure feeling _good_ in a way that it shouldn’t.

“But maybe you didn’t want to avoid it? Maybe you’re the sort of man who enjoys it like this. Maybe you really are his _rivette_.”

A moment later Despiat’s hand grabbed his hair and pulled him up by it, forcing him to arch his back. At the same time, Despiat pushed back inside him once more—and this time it was just the right angle, the friction so agonizingly good that Rivette cried out before he bit his lip hard enough to taste blood in his mouth.

Even so, there was no stopping it. His body had come alive around Despiat, throbbing and aching, and every thrust made him gasp and shiver. The tears he’d tried to hold back were now dripping down his cheeks, Despiat’s hand in his hair still cruelly tight. The thought of Javert seeing his tears was sickening, worse than the defilement of his body

His cock was hard, aching for a touch even if it came from the man who was violating him. That awareness was sickening, too—but nothing was as humiliating as the thought of Javert’s eyes on him, observing disdainfully how easily Rivette fell apart.

What would Javert think of a man who cried when he was roughed up by an insurgent? Worse—a man who clearly enjoyed the humiliation?

With a satisfied groan, Despiat at last finished. Rivette could feel the heat of his release inside him, wetness dripping out of him and running down his thighs when Despiat pulled out.

“That was enjoyable,” Despiat said, giving his hip a little pat.

Rivette didn’t react, but Despiat wasn’t talking to him anyway.

“But look at you, all left out.”

Rivette could hear Despiat walking away from him. The thought of him tormenting Javert next was so horrifying that he pushed himself up a little and turned his head, even if that meant giving Javert a good view of his tear-streaked face.

Despiat hadn’t touched Javert. He stood in front of him, and Javert was staring at him with such fury that Rivette felt his heart clench with instinctive terror.

Smiling, Despiat brushed his gun against Javert’s lips. Rivette managed a protesting sound that was cut short when Despiat went straight for Javert’s cock next, feeling him through his clothes.

“Since your friend wanted to show me the usefulness of his mouth so badly, I might let him demonstrate on you. You can give me a little show to make up for the fact that I have to sit in here, watching you, while others give their lives out there. What do you say to that?”

Javert clenched his teeth, fury emanating from every pore. “I am here for Jean Valjean!” he flung into Despiat’s face. “Jean Valjean, your leader! Rivette has nothing to do with this!”

Despiat shook his head, even though Javert’s words had forced a little amused exhalation from him. “We know no leaders here. And we know of no Valjean.”

There was a finality in his voice, as if they’d had that conversation many times before—and perhaps they had, before Rivette’s arrival. Perhaps Javert had finally been wrong about Paris’s most dangerous criminal and had managed to get himself captured for nothing.

Then Despiat turned around to eye Rivette, who suddenly became once more aware of the trousers pooled around his ankles and the fluid dripping down his thighs.

“Seems it’s your lucky day, _rivette_. You look like you’re the sort who enjoys sucking his master’s prick. Unless you’ve got a better answer for me than he does.”

Rivette swallowed, the iron tang of blood still in his mouth. Shame heated his cheeks at the thought that Javert _knew_...

“It’s all right, Rivette,” Javert said roughly. “This isn’t your fault.”

Shame burned even hotter at those words. Was Javert trying to comfort him?

“You can keep me here,” Rivette offered, “as a hostage or as—as whatever you want. Just let him go. He said the truth. He was looking for a different man. This wasn’t ever about your uprising for him.”

“A police spy among us,” Despiat said with an ironic twist of his lips, “here at the barricade, and it’s not about us? I have a hard time believing that. But even if he isn’t—what about you? Are you also here to look for this _Valjean_?”

“I’m here for him,” Rivette said, his throat aching. “And for you. I’ve been looking into your little insurgency for weeks—months, really. I know about you, Despiat. I know about those students from the Musain—Enjolras, Courfeyrac. I know about the arms factories. Whatever it is you want, it’s far more likely I’m your man.”

“You know what I want to know. The plans of the army. The identities of other spies among us. The identities of your spies at other barricades.”

“I don’t know the plans of the army.” Rivette’s stomach was churning at the thought that there was one thing he knew—one thing he could offer, even though Javert had refused to yield it.

“Ah, but you do know the other spies.” Despiat smiled without humor. “I want names and descriptions. And I want the word to get past those soldiers.”

“I don’t know—” Rivette began hopelessly.

Despiat laughed in his face.

“You didn’t come without a plan to get Inspector Javert here out. You have a way out. I want to know it. Unless you’d rather stay in here and suck his cock for me. If your display convinces me, maybe I won’t shoot you. My friends out there deserve a last few moments of fun, don’t you agree? But since our inspector here seems to know nothing at all about this barricade or our leaders or indeed your own spies, I’m going to put a bullet through his head as soon as you’ve brought him off. So I want you to think about that. You already know I mean what I say. Talk it over with him if you want. I give you five minutes. Then I want a final answer.”

Rivette found himself roughly pushed into a wooden chair and tied to it. Despiat hadn’t even bothered to pull up his trousers, but at least this way, his shirt covered him. Rivette didn’t think he could have endured Javert’s eyes on him otherwise.

He could still feel the man’s release on his thighs, wet and sticky, and the throbbing ache of his body. And Javert had watched. Javert had seen it all.

Lightheaded with shame, Rivette stared at the ground until he heard the sound of the door. They were alone at last—alone for a few, precious minutes.

“Sorry, sir,” he said, his throat so tight it hurt to speak. He didn’t dare to look up. He couldn’t. Javert’s disappointment would be even worse than the violation.

He’d made his choice anyway. Despiat would kill Javert, there was no doubt about that—and Rivette would do whatever it took to keep that from happening. Even if it meant surrendering what little information he knew. Even if it meant remaining here with the insurgents and suffering their abuse.

Even if it meant disappointing Javert.

At least when all of this was over, Javert would be alive.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Rivette:_ young sodomite (also in the provinces: prostitute) [Vidocq’s Dictionary of Argot]
> 
>  _Rivette:_ Prostitute, from the verb rivancher, to surrender to love. This expression does not apply to women (Pederast slang). [Dictionnaire d'argot fin-de-siècle, Charles Virmaître]
> 
> Another mention of the word _rivette_ as slang can be found in Canler’s memoirs, which divides pederasts (in the 19th century usage where _pederast_ is used for any man suspected of same-sex sexual activity) into four groups: the _persilleuse_ , the _honteuse_ , the _travailleuse_ and the _rivette_.
> 
> The _rivette_ according to Canler:
>
>> The fourth category [of pederasts] consists of _rivettes_. There is nothing that distinguishes them from other men, and it takes the greatest attention combined with great familiarity by the observer to recognize them. We find them at all levels of the social scale. In order to satisfy their inclination, these individuals prefer youths. Blackmailers are therefore particularly attached to _rivettes_ , which they almost always successfully take advantage of. 
> 
> [Mémoires de Canler, ancien chef du service de sureté]


End file.
